


The Weight of it

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bittersweet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty has a problem: Jasper is set on self-destruction.<br/>It's either pull him back from the brink or give up, he's not good at giving up.<br/> </p><p>Response to recent S3 events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of it

He was waiting for Monty to give up on him.

It would be any day now, he shook his head a little more and hesitated a second longer before picking Jasper up from the concrete.

That’s simply how it had to be, he would give up on him, finally.

////

Jasper was getting worse, that was self-evident, he was going to shred himself to pieces. Caring was getting hard, but not caring just brought him back to every thing else. It hurt more.  
In his eyes mind they would be kids. Drawing on the walls, following girls around just to never talk to them, telling each other to ‘keep up’ at running, science, anything.

Jasper was on his back, eyes empty and unfocused, hands splayed out like Christ and breathing light, only light.

Monty purses his lips and then bends down, turns him on his side, that way he wouldn’t drown if he puked.

He pats his cheek, “it’s going to be okay.”

////

Jasper can’t stand the feel of fabric on his skin, the pull of his too tight skin, everything feels unwieldy.

He didn’t know when he became hyper-conscious of the way blankets felt and the weight of air on his cheeks, he just knew her last breaths in his arms were there.

He tosses and turns until he drinks into a oblivion. And that’s the point.

Monty sighs at him the next morning, he’s always sighing, he places a steady hand on Jasper’s chest as Jasper stares off into nothingness, “it’s going to be okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

////

Jasper is huddled in the corner, the mess hall is full, people talking, breathing, present. They ignore him like a gnat that no one has permission to squish yet.

Monty hesitates. It is brief, he swears.

“Come on.” He whispers to his friend, trying to pick him up from where he kneels on the ground and clutches the fabric of a shirt of his face. “Let’s get you to your room.”

He still smells like gin and salt, he resists Monty, but if Monty gave up that easily he’d be halfway to the afterlife a dozen times. At least, a dozen more than he had been.

He walks him unsteadily to his bunk, he had been assigned his own personal one after all the restless insults and yelling in the night. He was allowed his own bunk.

“I don’t want to go in there.” He mumbles, hands grasping over nothing.

“You’re going to be okay.” It’s all he knew to say, that had to be somewhat true.

“Stop saying that.” He looks sick, Monty hopes he doesn’t puke on him again, “I don’t want to go in there.”

“Do you want water?” He offers.

“Bring me back to the mess hall.”

“You hate the mess hall. You called everyone in there guilty executioners yesterday.”

“‘Cause they are.” He slurs,

“Maya wou-”

“Don’t say her name!” He hollers, face red and practically shaking, Monty just holds him a little tighter.

“You hate being the mess hall.” He repeats, trying to keep them on topic.

“I hate being alone.” He states factually, staring at his shoes, eyes glazed over like a fish.

“Come on man.” He shuffles him into the bunk anyway, stripping him of his jacket and shoes while Jasper sits morose on the bed.

“It’s all my fault.” He stares straight ahead and all his muscles seem to evaporate under him, he droops.  
"It's not."  
"It is."  
Monty sits next to him and knits his eyebrows together. “Remember that talk we had in the third grade about being a drama king?” He tries to lighten the mood.

“It’s my fault.” Monty grabs his wrist and holds on.

“It’s going to be alright.”

“No.” His breath shakes, wet and rattling, "no."

He lies Jasper down, always on his side, and sits next to him until his breath is even and barely hitched. And then he keeps sitting there until Jasper wakes up in a cold sweet, whimpering and twisting his blankets around him till it looks like he’ll nearly choke himself.

He untangles him, only leaving when his own eyes are too heavy and head lulling into Jasper's mattress.  
He leaves, taking the time to look back over his shoulder with a sigh like a prayer, “you are not alone.”

/////

Monty was staring at him, always shadow-eyed and keeping his twitchy gaze on him. Jasper's skin crawled. Heavy, heavy, heavy.  
And then I had been light. Breath gone.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be in love.” He spits one night after Monty was telling him to get a hold of himself. Another lecture, another disapproving conversation.

Monty just shakes his head, Jasper wrestles his hand out of Monty’s.

“You just follow everyone else. You don’t know…” He gets breathless, “you don’t know.”

“Love isn’t the same thing as self-destruction Jasper.” Monty finally turns on him, gritting his teeth as he spits out the words.

“ _How would you know?!_ ” He wailed, more desperate than the fury he wanted, wanted so badly.

Monty grabbed him around the waist and turned him around so they were facing each other, inches apart and a thumping heartbeat, angry and red between them.  
His eyes search his face.

“What?” Jasper asks plainly, tongue bitter and crackling out fire, “are you going to tell me it’s going to be okay?” 

Monty holds onto his waist firmer, not letting him stumble backwards away from him. 

“You are cold.” He declares.

“Good.”

“And yes.” He quirks an ironic grin, “You are.”

“Ah!” Jasper swings a punch at him, Monty dodges the sluggish moves and Jasper nearly topples over. He is crying, eyes swelling and wet, the shaking overcomes him.

Monty picks him up, he takes him to bed.

////

Jasper kissed him without warning. He was drunk of course. And mocking, and still not better, why wasn’t he getting better?  
They were on guard duty, quiet and tense like a murder trial. Then the conversation was low and distracted, little build up to the event, one that was angry like soft burning metal.  
It was a salty kiss, wet, like saltines are salty or window panes are wet when it gets warm and cold at the same time.

Then he touched his mouth, whispering into, “That’s what I would have done with her.”

Monty just sighed and then abruptly kicked in the shin. “Fuck off.”

“God I want to.” He murmurs.

“You are such a sad sack.” He wishes he would laugh again.

“Kiss me again.” 

“Kiss yourself.” 

He frowns, truly frowns as if nothing makes sense. They sit next to each other in the dark, waiting on the camps outskirts for an attack.

////

“It’s going to be okay.” 

Jasper is crying, he can’t stop it, he missed her, he missed himself, he hated everything. But he doesn’t have the energy to be angry anymore.

“How many times are you going to say that?” He growls.

Monty just holds his shoulders steady as the tears keep flowly, and then he grins, the kind where it crinkles and you know it’s bullshit, the kind of grin they would share, “a hundred. You are going to be okay, a hundred times.”

“I hate you.” He gulps wearily.

Monty shrugs, “fair enough... I’m not leaving.”

He should have. He should have left by now. He doesn’t.

After he is done, after he comes down and spent every ounce of liquid and cracks in his body out, he looks back at Monty, “do you want to bunk together again?”

Monty blinks rapidly, then looks around like he’s thinking, he claps him on the back after a long minute, “I thought you’d never ask.”

////

“Did you really love her?” He had to know. Jasper just nods as they sit in one bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You don’t think I would do all this for nothing?” His voice is strained and uneven, but weightier.

“I hoped not, but then again,” he tilts his head, “I remember the tantrums you threw to get Ms. Bell’s attention in third grade.” He tries to be light, airy.

Jasper chuckles for once, not raising up like a flame at any hint of kindling, “who would I want to their attention of?”

Monty tilted his head, “Bellamy. Obviously.”

“Ah, yes, my try love, I’m swooning at his stoic lack of-a-sense-of-humor.”  
Monty smiled, it was a good night. One of his good nights. And there hands brush and maybe he feels the old strum of something distant, yet changed. 

“See?” He croaks. “It’s okay.”

Jasper shakes his head. “It’s not.”

“Yeah. But that’s the hundredth time. I've said it a hundred times.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been counting.” Jasper says disbelievingly, chuckling to himself, "your a dork. Also a dick."

Monty picks up Jaspers bruised knuckles, hurt from punching walls and people and anything he could reach at his last melt down.  
He presses his lips to them, one scratch at a time, it feels normal for some reason.

“Is this alright?” He asks.

Jasper shrugs and eyes move onto to meet his, “its," he pauses for drama, "okay.”

He kisses him lightly, and everything had changed hadn't it? 

And Jasper melts into him, the nights gets lighter.


End file.
